


Wake Up

by Penrose



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Angst, But also some joyous moments, It's sad but hopeful, M/M, military deployment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-04
Updated: 2015-02-04
Packaged: 2018-03-10 10:56:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3287684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Penrose/pseuds/Penrose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's amazing how you can look a human being in the eye down the barrel of a gun without hesitation, but thinking about uttering a simple word that starts with “L” makes you feel like you're the one being targeted with a laser sight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wake Up

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this fic in my "half-written" folder for a long time. It was one I enjoyed writing at the start, but I lost steam halfway through and never picked it up again. And now it's going to sound silly, but the person that made me finish this was Monty. He has nothing to do with this story. He might not have even approved of the subject matter, I dunno. But this is my way of dealing with the grief of him passing. He worked tirelessly and passionately to do what he loved, and it inspired me to finish this stupid little fic. It's funny, and kind of ridiculous, but I felt like it was the right thing to do.
> 
> So I have Monty to thank for this. I'll miss you, but I'll keep moving forward.

You wake up.

You shuffle across your carpeted floor until your toes hit tile. Shivers run up your spine from how cold it makes you, your body trying to recover from leaving your warm cocoon of blankets. You run the shower water hot enough to turn your skin pink. The steam that fills the room makes it hard to breathe, but not hard enough for you to want to turn the heat down. You wash away the sweat, the sleepiness, the loneliness that all clings to you. Gavin is coming home today, so you have to scrub away all the negativity that has surrounded you since he last left you.

You know that today is the day that you're finally going to tell him how you feel. You've spent too long in England alone trying to gain the courage to let your guard down. It's amazing how you can look a human being in the eye down the barrel of a gun without hesitation, but thinking about uttering a simple word that starts with “L” makes you feel like you're the one being targeted with a laser sight.

But you're not going to back down this time. You're not spending another minute longer than you have to pining over him. You've already been waiting for the perfect conditions to confess for years. You've finally realized that there's no such thing as perfect conditions. Since the best moment will never come to you, you have to make it the best moment.

You decide that you won't waste any time. You'll meet him at the airport, watch him trot towards you with his camera equipment in tow, and when you wrap your arms around each other in a friendly hug like you always do, you'll whisper it in his ear. You know it's not a flawless plan, but if you spend too long thinking it through, you'll convince yourself that it's not worth confessing at all.

So you drive there. You wait. You see him in the crowd like he's the beacon in a lighthouse and you're a ship trying to navigate home. You wait some more. You don't want to seem too eager. You wait until he's a few yards away before you step forward to meet him.

Smile. Breathe. Greet. Breathe. Hug. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.

You can't do it. He passes over his luggage to you because he knows you'll offer to carry it anyway. He lets you lead the way, talking about how you're bigger and can push through a crowd better than he can. You smile and punch him playfully in the shoulder, telling him that you know full well it's because he doesn't remember the way out. He squawks and rubs his shoulder with a pout.

It's not the right time, you tell yourself. But you have all day to make the time right.

You shoulders sag because you feel like a failure, but Gavin doesn't seem to notice, or maybe he does, but he doesn't bring it up.

–

You wake up.

It takes you a moment to figure out what woke you, until you realize Gavin is using your back as a seat. He's got an Xbox controller in his hands and his eyes are trained on the screen as if he didn't notice the couch was already occupied. You groan and roll over, dumping him off of you and making him yelp. You rub your face and sit up, trying to figure out why Gavin chose to sit on you when the armchair was completely free. You ask him as much.

“Had to wake you up somehow, mate,” he says, getting to his feet and rubbing his backside. “You fell asleep about halfway through Austin Powers and I was bored when it was over.”

That's right. You were supposed to be watching a movie. “Sorry, B. Didn't get a lot of sleep last night.” You were too busy trying to form a plan that you didn't even go through with.

“Too excited to see me?” he jabs playfully.

He isn't expecting such an honest answer from you when you say “Yes.” It throws him off guard. His brows knit together in confusion and you get the itch to kiss the space in between them. You don't scratch that itch.

“You're so lame,” Gavin recovers, plopping down on the couch like a proper human being is supposed to. “I'm the one with jet lag, and I'm still awake. You're turning into an old geezer or summat.”

You figure that you'll probably be an old geezer by the time you tell him how you feel. Unless you do something about it. You bend over and pull Gavin's legs into your lap. You plan on doing something more after that, but you aren't sure what, so you do nothing.

Gavin gives you another perplexed look. “Alright, B?” he asks. “You're acting a bit odd.”

“I just missed you a lot, Gav,” you reply. It's so transparently obvious what the hidden meaning behind the words are, at least to your own ears.

Gavin isn't one the pick up on obvious clues. “...Right. I missed you too.” He turns his face back to the tv screen, joining a multiplayer match in Halo 4.

It feels like the right time, but you make up excuses to wiggle your way out of it anyway.

\--

You wake up.

You have nowhere to be but in bed next to him. His face is so close that his breath tickles your lips, and his large nose threatens to poke you in the eye. You don't care. From this distance you could count his eyelashes, so you start, because there's nothing else you would rather be doing.

1...2...3...

You make it all the way up to 24 before his eyes open and cause you to lose count.

“Good morning B,” he half-whispers.

You can see your clock through his forest of bedhead and it clearly reads 12:14, but you don't correct him.

He rolls onto his back and gives a mighty stretch, his fist nearly hitting you in the jaw. Your military-trained reflexes let you dodge it, but you can't dodge the urge to get close to him again. You roll with him and end up on all fours, your hands on either side of his head and your knees bracketing his hips. You get the itch to lean down to kiss him, and this time you're allowed to scratch it. He complains about your morning breath, but the smile he wears while he does so tells you he's just fussing for the fun of it. His hand pulls you down by the back of your neck to breathe you in again.

Neither of you have anything better to do, so you share your breaths until you each feel like you're suffocating.

–

You wake up

It takes you a second to remember where you are. Your legs are sore from lack of space to stretch. Your back is cramped from not having enough room to recline. Your neck hurts too. And your head. Your arms are asleep.

But it's worth the suffering to be sitting next to him. You glance over at him, the glow from the screen in front of him making him ghostly in the low cabin light. He's still as beautiful as ever, the blue tint making his skin look like more like marble in a statue made by a master artist. He doesn't notice you looking, and you get the itch to kiss him, if only to see the sparkle in his eyes when you surprise him. You can't scratch that itch, wary of watchful eyes.

But it comforts you to know that you're on a plane. On a plane to America, where you'll be with him. You'll find a house together, maybe get a cat, and even if this romance doesn't last forever, your friendship will. You'll finally be living the life you've been dreaming about since you met Gavin.

When you're living together, every moment will be the right time. It'll just be a matter of picking one.

\--

You wake up.

It's a normal day. Somehow, in just two months, your “normal” has changed drastically. You never wake up lonely anymore. Sometimes Gavin is still in bed, sometimes he isn't, but his spot is always warm. Today, you're greeted by empty sheets. You suspect he's in the shower as he normally is. You get the itch to join him, but he would appreciate breakfast more. You walk automatically until your feet slap tile, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes. When you grab two mugs from the cupboard and turn around, you're surprised to find Gavin already at the kitchen counter, his back facing you.

“Mornin', love,” you grumble, your voice only half awake along with you.

He doesn't answer you, and for a second you wonder if he's been turned to stone.

You try again. “How you feeling?” you ask with concern, setting the mugs down in favor of wrapping your arms around him.

He shrugs away from you, and it isn't until he's still again that you realize how slumped his shoulders are. You massage them, hoping to bring life into them. You ask him what the matter is, and his response is to hold up a creased sheet of paper. Before you even read it, you recognize the format and your blood runs cold.

“No,” you mutter, “I just got here...”

He sets the letter on top of its envelope on the counter, pulling away from you and going who knows where. He probably doesn't care where as long as it's away from you.

You don't even bother to hold the paper. You can read the important bits just fine, and you know what it says anyway.

'This is an involuntary mobilization...'

–

You wake up.

Once again, your “normal” has flipped on its head. You sleep alone in a bunk. Well, no one shares your bed, but you're not truly alone. Your unit is all around you, most already pulling their uniforms on as you watch them blearily. You don't want to get out of bed. It's not the bed you belong in. Maybe if you go back to sleep, the next time you'll wake up is at home.

But that's silly, you realize. You have the same thought every time you have to start a new day here, and it's never true. All you'll get is your commanding officer barking at you until you're finally standing upright. So even though it goes against your very nature, you get dressed along with your mates.

They try to help you through. They try to keep you distracted from a lot of things. The people you've killed, the sleepless nights, the homesickness. Their distractions work, but only temporarily. You feel guilty, because you're not the only one feeling this pain. Every single soldier you fight alongside has a story, a light that beckons them to come back home in one piece. Despite knowing this, you're lonely. Everything reminds you of the boy with his eyes trained on the viewfinder of a camera. Images of his perfect nest of hair, the angles of his face, the muscles of his body never leave the back of your mind.

And you still write plays in your head of “the perfect moment.” The right time never came, and now with the constant paranoia of imminent danger, you realize it might never come.

That night, when you should be on watch, you write a letter. You address it to home. You'll send it tomorrow. It's not the right time, or the right way, but you can't live with the uncertainty anymore. You don't want to leave that uncertainty behind for Gavin.

–

You wake up.

You don't remember falling asleep in the first place. You don't remember anything but a flash of light, and the pain that shoots through your whole body prevents you from thinking about anything else. It's white hot, agonizing, causing you to twist against hands that are holding you down. You scream until you feel like your throat is ripped open, until the only sounds that come from your lungs are breathy groans. Voices try to calm you down, but they sound just as panicked as you feel. Your eyes slip closed, even though it doesn't feel like you ever opened them.

You feel lighter.

–

You wake up.

You're not in the desert anymore. You're in a hospital room. It's not blinding white and intimidating like it is in the movies. It's actually more grey, and a window you can't see makes the room bright, but also casts shadows of shuddering leaves and other indistinguishable shapes. It makes you laugh, because it's not at all what you were expecting when you opened your eyes. If anyone was in the room, they would think you were insane.

You feel your cheeks burn when you turn your head towards the window, and there's someone watching you. Not just someone, but him. He's sitting on the ledge, holding a letter in his hands, and you realize that he is the indistinguishable shape casting shadows on the ceiling. You feel like a right mug when you look up at the shape again and you recognize the arch of his back and the distinct profile of his face. How could you miss that nose?

Before you can turn to smile at him, because everything is just so hilarious, he's at your side, clutching the metal barriers keeping you in bed until his knuckles are white. You wonder where the letter he was holding went. You wonder why you care so much about it.

“How are you feeling, B?” he asks, trying to sound casual. The awestruck look on his face directly contrasts his tone.

“M'alright?” you reply uncertainly, your throat still sore. You remember screaming, but not much else now.

Relief spreads across his face along with a smile. “You're home now. In America I mean.” You can tell he doesn't know what else to say.

You don't need him to say anything. All you need is to touch him again. You reach up to cup his face in your hand, only to find that you can't. Even if the debilitating pain can't stop you, the lack of an arm does. You go from one extreme to the next, from fondness to horror, when you're forced to come to terms with this in less time than you need. You look up at him in the same awestruck way he looked at you, which makes him furrow his brows in anguish. You get the itch to kiss the spot in between them, but you can't.

You weep. At first Gavin doesn't seem like he knows what to do. He just stares at you while snot clogs your nose and makes it hard to breathe. It only affirms your fears. He thinks you're a monster now. Things will never be the same.

But after a minute of that, you feel your bed shake as he struggles to lower the metal bars. They fall with a clunk, and there's nothing left between the two of you. He's in bed next to you, laying where your arm would be if you had one, pulling your head into his chest. You try to apologize for getting his shirt wet, but he just shushes you and holds you closer. It hurts, but you don't have the heart to tell him, don't have the bravery to be away from him.

This is the right time. You would tell him if you had the ability to speak.

–

You wake up.

Your normal has been reinvented one more time. Gavin is always by your side, now. He helps you out of bed, lets you lean on him as you both make your way to the kitchen. Your skin and muscles and bones are healed enough that you can walk just fine on your own, but he is cautious. He makes you breakfast, even though he burns the toast every single morning. The tea is never strong enough either, but you don't complain. You're still spending every day with him, and that's what you wanted from the very beginning.

He gives you a bath when the both of you have time, no matter how much you insist that you can take a shower on your own. You have scars covering so much of you. They make you self-conscious sometimes. He doesn't seem to care. He trails his fingers over the damaged parts just as lovingly as the normal ones.

He still finds you sexy. Some days before work the two of you have a quickie, hot breath fanning across skin and fingernails digging into your back, all his actions so much less careful than they usually are. It keeps you alive. It keeps you from feeling completely helpless.

Some days, there's none of that. But it's okay, because you know that means there's a chance of something more passionate later in the evening. The fact that he gives you the time of day at all is what matters to you.

He's learning how to drive. He is doing it just for you, because one day you complained about how sore it made your back and shoulders to control a steering wheel. He still lets you take the two of you to work, because he's only just started and isn't completely comfortable yet. Driving on the right side still gets him confused. It isn't what they taught him in England. You don't mind. You think it's cute how his forehead wrinkles whenever you take him out for a lesson.

You're an Achievement Hunter now. You don't play games, because as much as you want to, you haven't quite gotten the hang of using a controller with one hand. You practice Halo almost every night with Gavin to get back to the way you used to be. You'll know when you're back to you're old self when Gavin only beats you by a few kills, when you're kill-death ratio is the right way around again. It doesn't bother you much, because you get to edit. That's something you can do single-handed, and you still get to have all the fun being an Achievement Hunter comes with.

You go home when the sun starts to set. This is a part where you have to make a choice. You can play games with Gavin, you can wrestle with Gavin, you can come up with Slow Mo Guys videos with Gavin. Everything you do, you do with Gavin, and that's how you want it to be.

Tonight, you make love to Gavin. You know the perfect mix of gentle and rough that makes him sing. You find new places on his body to touch that make him moan that he doesn't even know about. He gives you the same attention until you're both heaving, sweaty messes, somehow ending up with him laying on your chest when it was the other way around just moments ago. As his hair tickles your nose, you realize this is it. This is the right time. The perfect moment you've been chasing after for almost a year now. A whole year of him oblivious to the truth.

You stop tracing circles along his spine and press your hand into the small of his back, wordlessly grabbing his attention. He looks up at you, worry marring his face. You kiss his forehead, letting him know that everything is okay. Everything is more than okay.

You breathe deeply. “Gavin...”

He looks up at you expectantly, more inquisitive than worried now.

Smile. Breathe. Touch. Breathe. Kiss. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.

“Gavin, I love you.” All that buildup to such a simple phrase seems silly now.

Gavin seems to think the same, because he laughs, delight in his eyes. “I know, you idiot. I love you too.”

You pout. This was meant to be some amazing scene. The perfect moment. The perfect moment isn't turning out to be as grand as you imagined it to be.

“You wrote it in your letter, you mong,” he continues. “You remember it, yeah? You sent it before you were discharged...I read it right in front of you.”

Of course you know that. You may have temporarily forgotten, but you had other things to worry about at the time. 

“Oh, don't be torn up about it, B. Even before the letter, I knew. You never had to tell me.” He lifts his hand to pinch your cheek playfully. “But it's nice to hear anyway. I've been waiting for it.”

The moment slips away when he falls asleep. It isn't all you made it out to be, but somehow, it's better.

–

You wake up.

For a moment, you wonder if the last 50 years of your life were all a dream. The grey ceiling with shadows of leaves is all that you see. You try to lift your arm, but find that you don't have the strength, so you opt to look at it instead. It's still missing. You turn your head to the window, expecting to see him there, but there's no one, and the scene outside is different than you remember. But to be honest, your memory isn't much to rely on anymore.

“Dan,” a calm, quiet voice beckons you.

You look to the foot of your bed where the sound came from, and there he is. His face is weathered and wrinkled, and your eyesight isn't good at picking up the details, but he's just as stunning as he was to you in secondary school. It's the man you've spent your whole life with. 

You get the itch to hold his hand, but you can't. As if he can read your mind, he comes to your side and takes yours. When he's closer, you can see the tears forming at the corners of his eyes. If you could, you would wipe them away. It isn't often that he cries. It's your least favorite sight.

It's then that you hear shifting in the room and find that the two of you are not alone. So many people are there with you. Friends, your son, your oldest granddaughter. You know why they're there. You know they want to say goodbye.

He squeezes your hand tighter, as if begging you to look at him.

“You've given me so much, Dan,” he says, letting his tears fall. “You've brought so much joy to so many people. We're all going to miss you, but it's okay to let go.”

You notice how tired you are. Your eyelids are fighting to stay open, and your muscles are starting to fatigue. But you can't go. You can't leave him behind alone.

“I love you, B, but I'm going to be okay,” he insists. “You don't have to fight anymore. You can let go.”

You're still unsure, but he has never lead you astray.

“Let go,” he says one more time before his throat closes.

You try to squeeze his hand back, just one last time. You're not sure if you succeeded or not, but you see him attempt to smile.

You go to sleep.


End file.
